


Oncoming Storm

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Series: SPN Masquerade Fills [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn-masquerade, Impala, Incest Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest, Sleeping in the Impala, unspecified season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16159685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: Dean is rattled from that last hunt. Sam knows just how to help him relax.





	Oncoming Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Masquerade Round 5. For the prompt: _Wincest. Road head. Dean is rattled from that last hunt. Sam knows just how to help him relax._

Rain beats down on the roof of the Impala. The sound of water on metal is soothing, a beat Sam has been listening to since he was old enough to form memories and associate these four doors with the feeling of _home_. The rain rolls down the windshield, distorting the distant lights of the highway rest-stop like a kaleidoscope. Sam raises his head for a moment and watches the red and white glimmers chase one another down the planes of glass, mind wandering further and further afield, away from the humid interior of the Impala, until he’s called back by Dean’s fingers as they comb across his scalp. The touch anchors him in the moment and reminds him of his real objective.

He’s doing this because he can still feel the tension in Dean’s thighs, the muscles flexing and straining under his hands, and because there’s an edge to Dean’s breathing that wasn’t put there by Sam’s mouth. Sam is here, his upper body sprawled across the body-warm black leather with his head in his big brother’s lap, because the last hunt left Dean rattled. Neither of them came away from that one at their best, but normally unshakeable Dean couldn’t settle. Not back at the diner on the outskirts of town where they ordered food for the road and sat in live-wire silence until the server handed them two paper bags, and not in the car when the food was gone and the highway stretched out in from of them.

Dean’s nerves finally got to Sam between miles fifty and seventy-five. He couldn’t handle the uneven tapping of Dean’s fingers against the steering wheel or the heaviness of his foot on the gas pedal while the road was still slick from twenty-four hours of on and off storms. Dean was Sam’s foundation, and sometimes he was the only thing keeping Sam on solid ground, so it came down to him to make sure Dean didn’t break apart during the aftershocks.

And Sam knew one surefire way to counter that reckless energy and ground Dean in the here and now. He shifted and leaned over the seat, lowering himself slowly until he could smell denim and graveyard dirt. Dean seemed surprised, his gaze flicking between Sam’s face and the road ahead, and Sam expected him to say something or scoff because _now’s not the time, Sammy_. Instead, Dean spread his legs as much as he could while keeping one foot on the gas. Their eyes met as the Impala raced beneath a street light and, in that flash of buzzing yellow, Sam caught the need in Dean’s stare and Sam knew he was making the right move. Dean might still try to push him away and deal with his turmoil in some solitary and unhealthy way, but they were Winchesters. They had been doing this long enough to accept that they didn’t cope well on their own.

Codependence was more than just the family motto.

The engine roared, low vibrations transferred up through the seat and into Sam’s body. They sped past more roadway lights and Sam saw his hands opening Dean’s jeans in the intermittent flashes, lifting Dean’s dick out through his boxers and noting with a sharp inhale that he was already starting to get hard. He barely got to enjoy the feel of Dean filling out on his tongue when the rain began to fall. Dean’s hand was steady and reassuring on the back of Sam’s neck, holding but not pressing as Sam moved up and down. He trusted his brother not to run them off the highway up until the moment when the light rain became a thundering downpour and Sam could see forks of lightning in the distance.

It was too much of a risk for Dean to drive distracted through the storm, leaving Sam with the choice to either stop and hope the rain let up before Dean’s restlessness was beyond curing, or direct his brother towards the rest-stop advertised at the next exit. Dean made the decision for him, steering the Impala to the right and eventually rolling to a stop on the outer edge of the parking lot, miles of wet black asphalt between the Winchesters and the closest eighteen-wheeler.

All of that so Sam could end up here with a welcome ache in his jaw, shivers running down his spine each time Dean’s short nails raked through his hair. Spit clinging to the corners of his mouth as he held Dean’s cock inside, swirling his tongue over the warm flesh that has become the sole focus of his attention. When they do finally make it to a motel, be it tonight or tomorrow, they’ll both need a shower to wash the grit and rock salt from their skin. Sam needs the scalding water to pound away the not-quite-right feeling he’s had during the last six months of salt-and-burns, and Dean could use the steam to loosen the knot of repressed emotion he carries in his chest. 

First, Sam has to finish what he started. Already, he counts a few extra seconds between the breaths Dean takes. The frantic energy he felt earlier has dimmed to a dull thrum, mitigated by the rush of blood between Dean’s legs that fills his cock until it fits perfectly in Sam’s mouth. He rides the upward thrust of Dean’s hips and listens to the muffled grunts coming from above, knowing without looking that Dean’s biting his knuckles to keep from moaning. Any other time, Sam would tell Dean not to bother because Sam likes to hear him cry out, but there’s a fine line between gasping and sobbing and Sam doesn’t want to push him over the wrong edge.

Dean’s cock is thick and warm, familiar topography for Sam’s tongue. He knows where to suck, where to linger, and where to tease. He wants to leave Dean wrecked and to fill his mind with white-hot pleasure so there’s no room left for the creeping, persistent anxiety that plagued Dean after Sam was nearly added to the body count on the last hunt. With each twist of Sam’s tongue and each brush of hot flesh against the back of his throat, Sam proves to his brother that he’s here, he’s whole, and he’s willing. He isn’t going anywhere, not without Dean, and he drives the point home with the heat of his mouth and the unrelenting pressure of his fingers digging into Dean’s leg. Sam’s own cock is interested, but the slow simmer of arousal is easier to ignore when he’s focused on Dean, coaxing his brother away from the chaos in his mind.

The way Dean’s fingers fist in Sam’s hair and tug is his first clue that Dean is close. Dean immediately releases his grip and soothes with longer strokes, but Sam is onto him. He presses a little further and holds because he knows how crazy Dean gets when he sees Sam’s lips form a ring around the base of his cock, breathing through his nose until Dean starts to move. He’s desperate for friction and Sam delivers, blowing him fast and hard while the rain beats even harder on the roof as if the storm is responding to the action inside the car. Sam barely hears Dean cry out above the pounding of the heavy raindrops as he spills in Sam’s mouth. One, two, three pulses, and Sam finds himself struggling to swallow.

When Sam is finally able to breathe again, Dean is cradling his head in gentle hands. If he says anything to Sam, it’s lost to the storm, which is fine because words are an unnecessary luxury at this point. All Sam cares about is the way Dean helps Sam shift over onto his back, his long legs folded up on the seat and his head on Dean’s thigh. It’s dark outside, only a few beams of refracted light penetrating the Impala’s windows, but not too dark for Sam to miss the way Dean’s eyes have gone soft. The slow sweep of his gaze down Sam’s body and the solid weight of his hand on Sam’s shoulder is enough to tell Sam that his plan worked and he’s in no rush to move back to his side of the car. He prefers the way in which he and Dean settle together, comfortable in one another’s shape, to listen to the rain in the darkness.

This storm can take its time as far as Sam is concerned. He’s patient, and there’s nowhere he would rather be.


End file.
